Playtime
by Band4Life
Summary: What if Sherlock didn't take down Moriarty's criminal web for those three years? What if he was instead taken by Moriarty, his own little toy to play with? Warning: includes non-con and gun play!


It's never good when Jim was near him. But when he has that cold, hungry look in his eyes, he knows it will be worse. Counting the days in his mind, he figures he has been Jim's captive for around three years. It has always been physical or mental abuse, and so Sherlock is confused when he's hoisted up and all but carried to another room and bathed. He'd nearly forgotten what his curls had looked like when they weren't greasy and clumped.

He is grateful when he's lowered onto a grand bed, his feelings soon giving away to worry when his hands are cuffed. Jim enters then, smiling down at him in a wolfish manner.

"Today we're going to have some fun." Sherlock tries to wriggle away, but Jim's hand clamps around his ankle, pulling him back. He slides easily across the sheets, both from lost weight and the silky fabric against his uncovered flesh. Jim tilts his head, observing him from every angle imaginable, like a feast spread out just for him. Sherlock closes his eyes, wanting food and sleep more than the heated gaze, squirming away when Jim's fingers begin to trail up from his ankle. He's pulled back again and receives a harsh slap to the side. "No." Jim says sharply.

Sherlock bites the inside of his cheek and closes his eyes and tries not to move as his fingers continue their path. When the fingers ghost at his cock he all but flings himself away, landing hard on the floor. A riding crop splits flesh on his back.

"You- stay- up- there-!" Each word is emphasized by a sharp 'whap' while Sherlock bites his wrist and tries not to cry out. Jim hoists him back up on the bed, and this time Sherlock fights, stopping only when he hears the distinct metallic click of a gun being cocked. His eyes rake over it. Real. Definitely real. He goes still, and Jim smiles, pressing the gun to his lips. "Open." He orders, and when he does the barrel is shoved into his mouth. "Suck." He obeys immediately, knowing the gun would definitely be loaded.

Sherlock watches as Jim slips his own fingers into his mouth. Three. "If you were a good boy, I was going to use lube. But spit is all you're going to get." He says with another wolfish grin. When he pulls his fingers out, they're coated with saliva. "Keep sucking." He says, spreading Sherlock's legs.

Sherlock tries to push away and gets a dark look, a warning look. He pushes two fingers in immediately and Sherlock tenses with the tightness, the pain. "When you're a good boy you're treated well. But you're being such a bad boy. I don't understand it." He crooks his fingers, brow raising when Sherlock lets out a gasp, before he smirks and begins to tap. "I could make you come from this, my little Virgin."

Sherlock goes boneless at the feeling of pleasure. It was so long since he had felt anything remotely close. In the next moment, the gun was pulled from his mouth. He doesn't open his eyes until Jim pulls his fingers out and there is warm, wet metal against his arse.

"No." He protests weakly. Jim just smiles, shoving the barrel into him. Sherlock cries out in discomfort, trying to shove Jim away. He receives a backhand, continuing to be fucked with the gun. Jim finds joy in clicking the safety on and off, watching the different levels of panic. Sherlock doesn't dare try to get away again, waiting for Jim to pull the trigger, for the bullet to tear through his insides.

"I want you to come from this." Jim says, smirking. Sherlock doesn't answer, jolting a little when The gun hits his prostate. Jim fixes the angle of the gun, hitting it with every thrust. After a moment he wraps his hand around Sherlock's cock, stroking a few times to get him harder. "That's it. Let yourself go." He murmurs. After a while, Sherlock can't help but thrust into Jim's hand, getting a smirk.

When Jim knows he's close he wraps his fingers around Sherlock's base, feigning a look of sympathy. "You can't come until I say you can." He growls, continuing to hit Sherlock's prostate with the barrel of the gun. Sherlock trembles, wanting nothing more than to climax, knowing it would be over when he did. Jim gives a mischievous smirk and releases him, stroking him quickly. Sherlock feels the heat coiled in his belly and as he climaxes, Jim pulls the trigger. He screams, frightened, expecting the searing pain of a bullet as ribbons of come decorate his stomach and chest, unable to move from the orgasm ripping through him.

He hears laughter as his orgasm subsides. "You actually thought I was going to shoot you?" Jim asks, pulling the gun none to gently from him. Sherlock winces at the roughness, and Jim fumbles with his trousers. "You showed skill with the gun. Let's see that pretty mouth of yours wrapped around _me_."

**AN: Hello again! Second published smut! Tell me what you think. I may add another chapter. Thanks for reading! Ciao!**


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